


New Moon, Old Bed

by xxjinchuurikixx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Breathplay, Dad down the hall, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, I'm Going to Hell, Knotting, M/M, MILD - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Stiles is 17, risky sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjinchuurikixx/pseuds/xxjinchuurikixx
Summary: “I was thinking about you. About this afternoon,” Derek growls.Stiles exhales slowly through his nose, because that’s not a place his mind needs to go.“And I was thinking about what you said… Last time we were alone here.”Eyes flying open, Stiles braces his hands against Derek’s chest and pushes him up. “Derek, my dad’s down the hall.”The grin Derek gives him is borderline ‘steal Christmas’ evil, and Stiles shakes his head quickly.





	New Moon, Old Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I just...... hnnnnn, I really love writing porn at work apparently. This fic literally started in the middle, with Derek's hand over Stiles' mouth, and me dropping my face against my desk.
> 
> Enjoy, by fuck.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr!! [xxjinchuurikixx](http://xxjinchuurikixx.tumblr.com/)  
> -xo, mo

Stiles is woken by warm hands and a cool breeze, his groggy mind clearing slowly as he rolls over in bed. Derek is there, one hand on Stiles’ stomach, pushing up the hem of his shirt, the other carding through his hair. “Der.”

“Hey,” Derek purrs, kneeling down on the bed to kiss Stiles’ temple.

Pushing into the kiss, Stiles reaches for his phone and clicks the button on the side. The dim screen tells him it’s nearly three a.m. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, dragging him close with his measly sleep strength. “I’m sorry. I passed out.”

“You need rest,” Derek says warmly, climbing onto the bed. He’s already taken his boots off, Stiles realizes, but the window is still cracked. The breeze is sweet and dewy, but Stiles pushes his face into Derek’s neck and inhales, dragging his nose along the collar of his Henley. Derek’s scent, musk and forest, is warm and smooth, and Stiles lets out a little mewl when he exhales.

Chuckling, Derek nuzzles against Stiles’ shoulder, settling a thigh between Stiles’ legs. “I actually came with a purpose.”

“Hm. I didn’t text you. And this is way later than you usually come by,” Stiles hums, letting Derek prop himself on his elbows so he can look down at Stiles under him.

By now, Stiles and his secret boyfriend of sixteen months and nineteen days—not like Stiles is counting—have a pattern. Derek will come over early if the Sheriff is working the night shift and he’ll stay with Stiles almost all night. If Stiles’ dad is home, Derek will come over later and stay for less time, if he comes over at all.

Despite Derek’s werewolf prowess, Stiles is terrified of his dad catching them, even if all they do is talk and maybe make out some. They save their more illicit activities for Derek’s loft, where Stiles ‘studies’ sometimes.

Derek brushes his nose along Stiles’ jawline, growling in his chest. “Well… I have this little problem.”

“Uh… huh,” Stiles says breathlessly, fingers kneading Derek’s shoulder blades through his shirt.

Rolling his hips down, just a bit, Derek shows Stiles his problem in the simplest way. Stiles bucks up, hips stuttering into the feel of Derek’s full flushed erection rubbing against his thigh.

“And I was wondering, ‘who could take care of this?’ Then I thought, who better than the boy that caused it,” Derek teases, hands working Stiles’ shirt up his sides. They frame Stiles’ ribcage warmly, and Stiles gives a full-body shudder.

“I didn’t d-do anything,” Stiles huffs, but he’s already getting worked up. His cock is highly interested in all things Derek, but especially Derek’s own dick being in close proximity to the space between his legs.

“I was thinking about you. About this afternoon,” Derek growls.

Stiles exhales slowly through his nose, because that’s not a place his mind needs to go.

“And I was thinking about what you said… Last time we were alone here.”

Eyes flying open, Stiles braces his hands against Derek’s chest and pushes him up. “Derek, my dad’s down the hall.”

The grin Derek gives him is borderline ‘steal Christmas’ evil, and Stiles shakes his head quickly.

“We will be killed, you understand?”

“I would hear him coming before that,” Derek snorts, his mischievous grin slipping to a more comfortable but no less sinful smirk. “I just… I want it, Stiles.”

“I do too, but you never made an actual move when we were here alone,” Stiles whispers hotly.

“I’m usually content in your company,” Derek says thoughtfully. He removes one hand from Stiles’ ribs to touch his thumb to the corner of his soft, warm mouth. “But there’s a new moon out. You know how that works me up.”

Boy does Stiles ever know what new moons do to Derek. With almost as much pull on the wolf as a full moon, the last time Stiles and Derek were alone for a new moon, Derek made them sixty-nine for the first time.

Despite Stiles’ best efforts to give his boyfriend a satisfactory blowjob, he was mostly drooling and shaking apart on top of Derek while Derek sucked his cock and tongue-fucked his hole until Stiles’ thighs were wet and Derek’s chest was painted with his cum.

Derek still came, though. All over Stiles’ throat and cheek while Stiles gave him the most uncoordinated hand-job of his life. Stiles could still remember the bruises on his ass cheeks from Derek pulling them apart.

It was a good time, to say the least.

“I won’t risk our lives because you’re puppy drunk on the moon and your dick can’t handle it,” Stiles says, wriggling under Derek’s body.

Derek nuzzles Stiles’ nose with his. “The danger is half the fun.”

“ _Animal._ ”

“You _love_ it though.”

Stiles’ stomach twists at that, a warm, familiar coil he gets when he knows he’s about to get what he wants. And what he wants is usually for Derek to do whatever he wants with him. Stiles whimpers. “ _Derek_ …”

“C’mon, baby,” Derek pleads, in that voice between a whimper and a growl. “I promise we won’t get caught. I’ll be so quiet. I’ll fuck you so slow the bed won’t make a single squeak.”

Stiles trembles, one hand tugging Derek’s shirt fiercely, the other pulling on his hair. Licking his lips, Stiles tries to ignore his dick, almost completely hard in his pajama pants, and breathes in through his mouth. “Super quiet?”

Derek nods.

“…Super slow?”

Growling, Derek drags his hips up against Stiles’, their dicks rubbing through layers of fabric and friction. Derek nods again. “Fuck you on your little boy bed the way you begged for it while I had your cock down my throat and my fingers in your ass.”

Stiles actually sees tiny sparks at the edge of his vision at the surging rush of pleasure those words hit him with. His cockhead spurts out a splash of precum, and his whole spine tingles. Derek is still rutting slowly against him, the pressure and friction a violent delight. “You…” Stiles tries, but his voice breaks. He swallows, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries again. “You were just teasing. I begged— _begged_ you, Der. You wouldn’t do it.”

“I’ll do it right now,” Derek growls, and then his mouth is on Stiles’, and Stiles has no more arguing left in him. He rakes both hands through Derek’s hair and lets his lips part under Derek’s tongue.

For someone as grumpy and pushy and dominant as Derek—an alpha werewolf with the patience of a badger—he has always kissed Stiles with so much gentleness and love Stiles feels like he’ll shake apart.

The first time Derek kissed him, it had been a rough, warm press of lips, and then Derek just held Stiles in his arms until Stiles felt so content he could nap right there, covered in blood and dirt and dead Druid stuff. The first time Derek even used tongue, he licked Stiles’ mouth so slow and careful Stiles’ brain had gone offline.

Tonight, the new moon is present in Derek’s kiss, and his teeth nip and play over Stiles’ lips, and his stubble scratches Stiles’ chin.

Stiles goes for the hem of Derek’s Henley, fingers scrabbling over Derek’s abs before he catches the material and tugs. “Off,” he gasps, and Derek sits back and pulls his shirt over his head. Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s abdomen, scratching through the dark, soft hair on his tummy and chest. “ _Fuck_.”

“Good idea,” Derek says. “But quietly,” he whispers, kissing Stiles’ cheek before he pulls on Stiles’ t-shirt. Stiles sits up, letting Derek drag his shirt off, and then Derek takes Stiles’ face between his hands and kisses him again.

Derek tastes like dark chocolate, and Stiles has half a mind to ask him if he was eating some when Derek palms him hard through his thin pants.

Stiles whimpers, breaking the kiss to press his lips together, holding back any other illicit sounds he might make.

“You were so needy today,” Derek murmurs, thumb teasing Stiles’ wet head through the fabric. “So _loud_.”

Stiles exhales, shaky but soundless.

“You’ve never had to be quiet for me before. Think you’ll be okay?”

Growling quietly, Stiles surges forward and bites at the soft skin of Derek’s throat. The resounding growl in Derek’s ribs is exactly the reaction he wants. “Are _you_ gonna be okay?”

Derek pushes him back down on the bed, shoving the blankets out of the way before grabbing Stiles’ pajama bottoms by the hips. He drags them down, slowly, and Stiles squirms as his cock is tugged down, then, springs free. Derek gets Stiles’ pants all the way off and drops them off the side of the bed, then settles between Stiles’ thighs.

Stiles bites his lip.

Derek sets to licking the dampness away, suckling Stiles’ slit between long, wet licks up the length of his cock. Stiles’ eyes roll back, and he grabs the sheets and pulls. He tilts his hips up, and Derek, by instinct or by habit, takes Stiles’ dick in his mouth and sucks him slowly.

It’s easy for Stiles to stay quiet with Derek’s tongue and lips working his cock so slow. He just exhales slow and inhales deep, focusing on how good it feels, how quiet he needs to be.

There’s a clicking sound, familiar and also oddly loud in the darkness of Stiles’ room, and then Derek’s dragging a slick finger over Stiles’ hole.

Stiles bites his lip, breathing in through his nose.

The quiet sound Derek makes isn’t human, and he slides one finger into Stiles and starts pushing it in and out without preamble. He pulls off Stiles’ dick, leaving it wet and sloppy, and whispers, “Still soft inside. Still stretched from my dick. Are you sore, baby?”

Stiles huffs and shakes his head, hips quivering as he tugs at the sheets harder.

Derek hums, then Stiles gasps as cool lube drips over his perineum. Derek’s thumb works it in, and then he adds a second finger. Almost immediately, a third.

Stiles rocks down on them hungrily, Derek’s well-learned knowledge of his body making every thrust slide across Stiles’ prostate. It’s a teasing tactic Derek uses to make Stiles whine and beg, but now, Stiles just breathes heavily and curls his toes.

It’s slower than usual, like going slower means Derek’s fingers are quieter. But the slick, wet sound every time he plunges them in fills the space between Stiles’ breaths.

“I’m ready. Derek, please, I’m ready,” Stiles huffs, hips rocking down when Derek pushes up.

“Ready cause you rode me so well today, huh? You were so good, Stiles, so pretty bouncing on my cock,” Derek says hotly against the inside of Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles curses quietly through his teeth. “You’re trying to make me break, aren’t you? Trying to get me to be loud for you?”

Derek kisses Stiles’ thigh and pulls his fingers out. “I’m just teasing, love. I’ll stop… promise.”

“Please; I can’t take it.”

“That’s my boy,” Derek growls, climbing off the bed as he unbuttons his pants.

Stiles whimpers, rolling over and reaching for Derek automatically.

A gentle, clean hand brushes over the crown of Stiles’ head, curling against the back of his neck. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. Gotta get my pants off if you want me inside you.”

Stiles nods. He bites at his lip anxiously, watching Derek slick up his cock with long, slow strokes.

“Roll over,” Derek says, and Stiles blinks up at him, stomach burning at the glow in Derek’s eyes. They’re crimson in the shadows, and Stiles can see Derek’s fangs, which never fails to _do_ things to him. “On your side, baby. Face the wall.”

Stiles grumbles, turning over as Derek kneels on the bed.

“It’s okay, I promise.”

“We’ve never done it like this before,” Stiles says as he lays on his left side, his eyes trying and failing to focus on the dark of the wall.

“Like this, I can get deeper while going slow,” Derek explains, and his warm body settles in behind Stiles, dipping the bed. Stiles’ back presses firmly to Derek’s chest, and he reaches his hand back and Derek kisses his palm.

“You don’t want me on my hands and knees?”

“Too loud. And if you rode me, the bed would shake.”

“So, like, how do I—“

“I’ve got you,” Derek whispers, his mouth warm on Stiles’ shoulder blade, and Stiles melts back against him.

Derek slides one arm under Stiles’ neck, crossing over his chest, holding Stiles’ shoulder. With the other, he guides Stiles’ leg up under the knee and spreads him open. Derek’s dick bumps up against Stiles’ balls, slick and hot, and Stiles bites his lip to stifle a moan.

Smirking, Derek brushes his thumb in little arches over Stiles’ shoulder, soothing him. “Keep this here,” he says, and releases Stiles’ leg in favor of taking his dick in hand. He ruts his hips up, smearing the slick from his cock over Stiles’ hole, feeling it flutter when the head catches.

“I’ve got you,” Derek says again, kissing Stiles’ neck, and then he pushes in. Slow.

Stiles exhales, the air forced from his lungs as Derek slides in burning slow, inch by inch. When he’s on his back, Derek fucks in and out of Stiles until he’s in deep, and when Stiles is on his hands and knees, Derek thrusts in to the hilt and, if Stiles is lucky, sets a quick, rough, torturously delicious pace from there.

This is fraying Stiles’ nerves, little sparks and shivers of pleasure as Derek’s body presses up and into his. Derek grabs at Stiles’ thigh, his hand slippery, and he holds Stiles open as he settles flush inside him.

Stiles grabs at the sheets with one hand, the other reaching up to paw at the arm braced across his chest. He’s breathing loud and slow, aching pleasure buzzing under his skin. His left shoulder is tingling from lying on his side, but he holds onto Derek’s wrist and the blankets as Derek rocks up gently.

“Oh,” Stiles exhales, shivering.

“Cold?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Feels so good, Derek…” He turns his face, nose bumping Derek’s cheek, lips scratched by his soft beard. “Fuck me on my little boy bed, please.”

Derek growls, the sound bitten off at the end, too loud to be safe. “Yeah? Nice and slow? I know how much you like it when I’m rough with you.”

Stiles turns his face against his pillow to muffle a sound of distress as Derek ruts up into him. His neck is bared this way, and Derek grumbles and drags his teeth along the pale skin.

“Can’t wait to be able to mark you. Can’t wait for everyone to see my claim on you,” Derek whispers, then he bites Stiles’ throat. It’s not hard enough to bruise; they aren’t allowed. They’re only a month and twenty-five days to Stiles’ eighteenth birthday—not like Stiles is counting.

When they started this, Derek had rules—many of them Stiles broke by the second month, but others took delicate steps. So much of it was just too much to ask of Stiles’ teenage self-control. He knew Derek had reservations about their age difference, and Stiles couldn’t blame him, but he couldn’t stand Derek feeling like the bad guy. So he made wiggle room into what Derek was comfortable with…

And then Stiles wiggled a little more.

They were allowed to hold hands, and kiss, but not allowed to touch below the belt. Then Stiles ground on Derek’s lap until they both came in their pants, and Derek had flipped Stiles over onto the couch so fast he still remembers the dizzy feeling. After Derek had licked him clean, the rules changed a bit. Then they changed again the first time Stiles asked to give Derek a blow job. Then again when Stiles begged to know what Derek’s fingers felt like inside him.

So they adjusted the rules, here and there, and the day after Derek took Stiles’ virginity, the whole pack could smell it, and _boy_ , they did not let Derek or Stiles hear the end of it. Mostly, Stiles ignored them. It was only _The Best_ Sunday night ever, and Stiles had never seen something as gorgeous as Derek’s post-orgasm cuddle time face.

Each time the rules changed, it wasn’t without difficulty. When Derek would say no, when he meant it, Stiles would back off, and he’d back off quick. And when Derek would ask—for anything—Stiles would say yes just as quickly. The clear balance of power in their relationship made Derek feel safe, and it made Stiles feel protected.

But Derek’s rule about no marks remained in place. Even though Derek’s status as a not-murderer was solid, Stiles’ dad was still wary about someone six years older hanging out with him, Scott, and the other kids. The last thing they needed was a hickie with a source Stiles couldn’t be honest about coming to John’s breakfast table.

Still, the thought melts something deep in Stiles’ bones, and he clenches around Derek deep inside him. “I’ll wear your bite where everyone can see. I’ll be all yours, Sourwolf.”

Derek laughs, a huff of breath on Stiles’ throat. “You already are.”

Mewling, Stiles arches back into Derek’s next slow, deep thrust. He lets go of Derek’s wrist to reach back and grip at his hair, breathing slowly, softly, as Derek sets a gentle pace.

It’s so slow, Stiles feels like he could be rocked right back to sleep were it not for the broiling pleasure licking flames in his blood. Every time Derek draws out, every time he slides back in, Stiles feels every slow, shifting inch. He feels the head of Derek’s cock as it rubs over his prostate before Derek’s hips are flush to Stiles’ ass.

“You okay?” Derek murmurs, his breathing heavy as he keeps his hips rolling leisurely into Stiles.

Licking his lips, Stiles nods. “So okay. You?”

“Feels like I’m about to buzz out of my skin. You’re so warm—so tight. I can hear your heartbeat… I can feel it,” Derek groans, pushing his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder, holding him tighter. Derek’s hand on Stiles’ shoulder slips down across his chest, pressing firmly over his collar.  “Lemme,” Derek starts, then he shifts a bit. He lets go of  Stiles’ thigh and settles his legs down, curling up under Stiles. His arm wraps around Stiles’ waist, hoisting him back as Derek rocks forward.

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath. “ _Oh_ , shit,” he gasps, clawing at the sheets. “I… _ffff-fuck._ ”

The sudden shift of Stiles’ body, legs pressed together, back curved under Derek’s pressing chest, makes him clench around Derek’s cock. Everything is tighter, Derek impossibly bigger, and then, with his newfound leverage around Stiles’ waist, Derek starts pumping harder.

His hips piston with a deep, steady rhythm, and though Derek’s going no faster than the lazy, deliciously teasing pace he had set from the beginning, everything is more acute. It’s a bit rougher, harder, Derek’s cock nailing Stiles’ prostate, forcing itself past the squeeze of his tightened muscles.

Stiles inhales wetly, fingers clawing at the bed, toes curling. His eyes drop shut, and behind his lids, Stiles can see blinking white stars every time Derek thrusts into him. When Derek’s hips are flush to his ass, Derek grinds Stiles’ down against him, and with as close as their bodies are, Stiles has no room to breathe between thrusts. Derek’s dick doesn’t even slip halfway out before he’s driving back in.

Derek pushes his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder, the sound of a muffled, needy whimper falling from his lips. Stiles can feel the brush of Derek’s teeth against his skin, and then Derek’s hands are flexing on his chest and waist. Claws raise goose bumps across Stiles’ flesh, and he arches his head back to nuzzle against Derek as best as he can in the position they’re in.

“So good, Derek,” he whispers, impressed by his own volume control. Though there’s nothing to be impressed by. Stiles is just so strung out the words come out like a puff of breath, desperate, without sound.

Derek hugs him closer, and with a tiny growl, he braces Stiles’ body and gives him a forceful snap of hips.

“Ahh! _Oh!_ ” Stiles cries out, a spark running up his spine, the strongest bite of pleasure he’s had so far.

He inhales deeply, and before another sound can fall from his lips, Derek’s hand comes up from his chest and clamps over his mouth. His long fingers and broad palm cover Stiles’ jaw easily, and Stiles whimpers at the warm touch, the sound muffled, the pressure setting his blood to simmer.

Derek licks his neck, up to the shell of his ear, still holding him close with his other arm around Stiles’ waist. “Shh, baby. You wanna get us caught?”

Stiles groans, squeezing his eyes shut. He breathes sharply through his nose, and when Derek rocks into him again, every nerve is lit with white heat.

“I’ve got you. Just like this, I’m right here,” Derek says, and he kisses Stiles’ bared neck again, hugging him closer while rolling his hips up.

Derek easily finds the rhythm they had going—deep, slow, _hard_ —and Stiles lays limp and helpless to do anything but be trapped in Derek’s arms. Just to breathe is an effort now, and somehow Derek’s hand covering his mouth is a constant tingling sensation in his dick. Stiles’ stomach is twisted up with molten heat, and he can focus on nothing but Derek working in and out of him in smooth, teasing thrusts.

Derek’s arm around his waist loosens, and Stiles’ eyes fly open, lashes spiked together by a gathering of unshed tears, as Derek’s clawed hand carefully curls around his dick.

Stiles moans, filthy and desperate, but the sound can’t escape. Derek’s rough hand keeps it trapped inside him, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and moans again, frustrated. It feels so good, _everything_ feels so good, and he can’t cry out and beg and plead for more. There’s a pressure in his stomach, hot and throbbing, like the sounds are being trapped inside him and they’re struggling about.

Derek’s breath is hot and quick against his ear and cheek, and he twists his wrist on every stroke over Stiles’ wet, pulsing cock. He won’t go any faster, and Stiles can feel his mind unraveling. He’s burning inside out, his blood on fire, Derek’s body smothering him, his desperate breaths whistling as they rush in and out of his nose.

Against Derek’s palm, every thrust has a needy sound. A litany of muffled pleas of desperation. Stiles sounds like a broken record, _hmm, nnn, mmm, nhh,_ pressing against his lips. Stiles feels pathetic, so aching and desperate for Derek, his mind buzzing as he struggles to breathe.

When he blinks, dazed, a tear spills from one eye, then the other, and Stiles whines pitifully into Derek’s hand as he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s overstimulated, by the heat of Derek’s body, his dick splitting Stiles open, his calloused hand on Stiles’ cock, the reduction of oxygen, the adrenaline of knowing his dad is down the hall.

Derek licks his throat, tongue bathing Stiles, scenting him with the scratch of his beard as he thumbs the head of Stiles’ dick. Precum oozes across his fingers, slicking Stiles when Derek passes his fist back down to the base in time with his inward plunge.

“I’m close… I’m so close, Stiles,” Derek huffs, and Stiles mewls helplessly against his hand.

He releases the sheets with one hand and reaches up, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Derek’s wrist. Derek’s thumb swipes lazily against his cheek, smearing the salt of his tears into the skin.

“You’re close too, aren’t you, baby?”

Stiles inhales sharply through his nose, nodding. He releases the sheet with a shaking hand, reaching back to dig his fingers into the meat of Derek’s thigh. Derek growls, kissing his neck as Stiles holds onto him and only him.

“You gotta come just like this,” Derek says, grinding his hips deep, pulling back slow. “Nice and slow—not giving you any more than this. Will you come for me, baby? Just like this?”

Stiles whimpers and nods fiercely, nails digging crescents into Derek’s forearm and thigh. His stomach is twisted up tight, pleasure coiled in his gut, ready to snap. Derek keeps moving at his sluggish, blissful pace, but Stiles can feel the quake in his muscles. Derek’s thigh quivers beneath his palm, his stomach trembles against Stiles’ back, and he’s panting hotly against Stiles’ neck, muffling the sound.

Slow-boning is apparently a _thing_ for Derek, and Derek’s pleasure has always been a thing for Stiles. That Derek can shake and shift apart because he’s burning for Stiles the way Stiles does for him—that’s cloud nine, in Stiles’ opinion. After all, he has the hottest, strongest werewolf in all of Beacon Hills wrapped around his finger. It’s enough to make one a little power-mad.

Stiles’ dick is aching, and Derek’s gentle, slow strokes are maddening. Stiles has to come, just like this. Derek said. He wants to rock back against Derek’s cock, make him go faster, harder. But it feels so good, to be held so gently, to have pleasure forced on him like this.

“I… _Fuck_ , Stiles--”Derek starts, then stops because he has to push his forehead into Stiles’ neck and whine.

Stiles keens against Derek’s hand and his pressed lips, and he can feel it, holy fuck, Derek’s knot it catching on his rim. Derek grinds in slower, deeper, his cock swelling at the base. The flare of the knot starts pressing against Stiles’ prostate, and the feeling of being so full, of having such blinding pleasure cresting in an unrelenting wave, Stiles clings to Derek and fights to breathe.

Stars burning behind his eyes, Stiles keens, quick, quiet sounds of _mm, mm, hn,_ before his entire body is suddenly struck by his orgasm before Stiles even knows what’s happening.

Usually, he sees his impending cumshot coming from a mile away. He can feel the exact thrust that causes it, and when Derek keeps fucking him through it without slowing down or softening, Stiles burns apart and sparks up through the entire thing.

This, this slow, steady build up, the way Derek keeps grinding inside him slow and deep, is a surprising and new kind of pleasure. Stiles’ blood is burning, and the coil in his gut doesn’t snap, but unwinds like pouring honey over his bones.

Stiles shudders, a soundless cry trapped in his throat as Derek pumps his cock. He starts coming, first in drips, and then ropes, spurting across his sheets and spilling over Derek’s knuckles. Groaning, Stiles ruts his hips up into Derek’s fist, pleasure melting through his body syrupy slow, sweet. His toes curl and he arches back into Derek like a cat, fingers tingling.

Derek whimpers against the back of Stiles’ neck, the sound inhuman and bitten off, and when Stiles shivers, clenching down on Derek tightly, Derek comes undone.

He lets go of Stiles cock, removes the hand from his mouth in favor of wrapping both arms tightly around the smaller body beneath him, crushing Stiles to his chest as his hips stutter and grind.  

Stiles inhales a mighty gulp of air, his lungs flooded with oxygen, and his head spins as everything sparkles with a dizzy shine. Derek pants wetly against his neck, holding Stiles against him while he floods him with jet after jet of thick, hot cum. His knot is fully swollen inside of Stiles, tying them together, and Stiles can barely breathe.

He wriggles back against Derek,testing the hold of the knot even though he knows he’s going nowhere. Another ripple of pleasure tingles on Stiles’ nerves, that blissful, filthy feeling he gets when he’s full of Derek’s cum, covered in sweat.

Purring, Derek hugs Stiles, crushing him even smaller, his whole body engulfing Stiles despite their only slight size difference.

Stiles squeaks, the sound forced out of him by Derek’s huge arms, and Derek snickers into his sweaty hair. “You okay?”

A tiny nod is all Stiles can offer. His muscles are starting to feel the after effects of his actions, a sweet, subtle ache of satisfaction. As Derek holds him, their highs die down, and Stiles starts feeling incredibly tired.

He’s on the edge of sleep, the knot gone down and Stiles’ cum tacky, when Derek chuckles behind him, fingers running down Stiles’ chest to his soft cock.

“Something funny?” Stiles mumbles, and Derek kisses the nape of his neck. Fuck, Stiles likes that as much as Derek does.

“I fucked you right here. In your little boy bed; the bed where you jacked off for the first time. Fucked your perfect, tight little ass and filled you with my cum… With your dad right down the hall,” Derek says, his voice smug, gravelly like the wolf is pressed to his teeth.

Stiles shudders. His cock twitches with interest, Derek fingertips stroking lightly over his damp pubes. But there’s no way in dick heaven or hell that Stiles can go again. “Sexual deviant. You’re a sick puppy. You get off on slow-boning teenage boys.”

Derek snorts. “Just one.” A soft kiss is pressed to Stiles’ neck, that same tender spot, and then Derek says, “Your heart-rate spiked when I had to keep you quiet… Were you alright? I should have asked, but you smelled so fucking good.”

Grinning, blushing, Stiles feels a gooey warmth in his belly. “Well… Yes, I was alright. Completely alright; you didn’t hurt me or anything. I…” He turns to look over his shoulder, Derek’s eyes hazel and forest in the dim light. “…I guess I am just also a sexual deviant.”

Derek makes a noise like a purr, kissing Stiles’ cheek. “I thought so…My boy is kinky.”

Stiles covers his mouth to stifle a giggle, and Derek grabs his hip roughly.

“Don’t—my dick is still in you.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“You can’t giggle while I’ve got my dick in you,” Derek retorts. He starts to pull out, and Stiles stops him with a whine.

“Don’t—you can’t pull out,” he whisper-hisses.

“Why?”

“I’m full of your jizz. Like, I didn’t see you come in here with a box of wet wipes. It’s gonna pour out of me; I’ll be an awful, sticky mess,” Stiles protests, and Derek’s expression pinches up. Stiles can’t tell if it’s an expression of delight or disgust. It’s dark, and Derek is a Sourwolf, so it could be either, but when Derek slips his almost-soft dick out of him, Stiles whimpers.

He’s not empty for long, though. A moment later, Derek thrusts two fingers into him and just lightly rubs them against his prostate. Stiles’ hand flies to his mouth, and he bites his knuckle as Derek twists his fingers and—

“Der—“Stiles feels an aftershock of pleasure as Derek scissors his fingers, stretching his hole, and he can feel Derek’s cum—still hot, holy shit—spill out of him. His thighs are soaked, and the spot under him on the sheets grows damp. Fuck Derek and his weird werewolf dick for making so much spunk all the time.

But it clears up Derek’s expression for Stiles just fine. The idea of a filthy, sticky Stiles is a good one in Derek’s book.

A growl rumbles in Derek’s chest, and he withdraws his fingers, leaving Stiles’ hole fluttering around the emptiness. “I’ll help you do laundry in the morning,” Derek says, pawing at the blankets. He drags a few of the clean ones up over him and Stiles, then gets back into position, holding Stiles tightly to him, dick nudging his slippery ass cheeks.

Brain coming back online, Stiles huffs. “You’d better. And dad better not find out you were here.”

“I’ll make myself scarce when he wakes up, just in case he checks on you.”

“Such a good werewolf boyfriend.”

Derek huffs a laugh against Stiles’ shoulder. “I do my best.”

Stiles reaches down and takes Derek’s hand—the clean one, because he’s too tired to be kinky—and lifts it to his mouth. He kisses Derek’s palm, then threads their fingers together and sidles back into Derek’s chest. “Your best is more than good enough for me, Sourwolf.”

Derek’s growl hums against Stiles’ shoulders, a sound that means he’s safe and warm—both of them. “Goodnight, baby.”

Stiles falls asleep to warm hands and a cool breeze.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHTY KIDS! ARE WE IN HELL YET?!
> 
>   
> Honestly, I'm just being honest, I would let Derek Hale do whatever the hell he wanted if there was a family reunion downstairs, to be honest, perfectly honest. And I'm pretty sure me and Stiles ride in the same boat and wear the same red hoodie, so there's that.
> 
> Derek is a kinky fuck in this fic, so.... well, sinfulness is close to godliness or something.
> 
> Y'all be good now, happy holidays or whatever lmao. Every time one of you kudos this fic, I get to take a step back up the stairs descending into Hell!!


End file.
